Push To Start
by The Brat Prince
Summary: He tries to pretend that they're on a road trip, that they're going to spend the rest of their lives existing like this; between the yellow and white lines that map out America.


**Push To Start**

A/N: Written for teh_emowaffle on deviantart, who is the bestest. I believe I wrote this for her birthday back in January? I'm thinking yes.**  
**

* * *

Carlos is five years old when his big brother goes away to college.

Jesse isn't Carlos's only brother, but he is the oldest, and the best. He carries Carlos around on his shoulders and brings him corn dogs and always, always takes Carlos swimming in the lake when he asks. Jesse is also the absolute smartest guy that Carlos knows. They spend nights camping beneath the stars, Jesse whispering the names of every single one because he can. He's Carlos's big brother, larger-than-life, and it seems like he knows every secret the universe has to offer.

Far in the future, Carlos will distinctly remember how heartbroken he feels when he sees his dad packing up the car so that he can drive Jesse to the airport. But at the time, all he can think about is how Jesse does not say goodbye.

It isn't his fault.

Carlos hides in his fort in the backyard, pouting because he doesn't want Jesse to leave. When he hears the car rev, he straightens up real quick. He has this tiny plastic jeep wrangler, a miniature copy of a car. On good days, he likes to steer it around the street and pretend he's a big boy in it, like Jesse. Carlos uses that to chase after his dad's sedan, pushing the toy to its limits.

He still can't catch up.

That is the day that everything changes. Sure, Carlos talks to Jesse on the phone practically every week after he leaves, but it isn't the same. And Jesse never comes back from college. He gets a job, meets a nice girl, and settles down in a city that Carlos has never seen.

And Carlos thinks it was inevitable, because Jesse is smart; so smart.

Smart enough that he knew how to fly away from the backwaters of Minnesota.

Smart enough that Carlos could never catch up.

* * *

Carlos is nine when the Mitchells move to town, dragging a U-Haul full of junk behind their shiny SUV. They park in the driveway of one of the big houses across from the park, where Carlos, Kendall, and James are playing street hockey. Like the friendly kids they are, the boys go over to say hi.

Logan is this tiny creature, smaller than Carlos, even, with big brown eyes and a nervous expression. He's obviously not used to getting so much attention. From the way that Logan shuffles his feet to the red creeping across his skin, Carlos is completely and utterly charmed.

He makes it his mission in life to make Logan his newest best friend, and it _works_. Over time, he gets to know all sorts of things about Logan.

For instance: he's a bossy little thing. Logan is _constantly_ telling Carlos what he can and can't do. _Don't jump off the roof, Carlos. Don't skateboard into the lake, Carlos. Don't forget to wear your helmet, Carlos. _Logan has something to say whenever Carlos does anything reckless, but he is also always there afterwards, when Carlos is nursing a broken bone or a bruised body part, pressing soft kisses to his wounds and putting him back together again.

Carlos basks in all the mothering. He loves his parents to death, but he's got five brothers and sisters who get into just as much trouble as he does. Carlos's mom and dad don't have the time to check up on every scratch Carlos stupidly inflicts on himself. But Logan actually _enjoys _clucking his tongue and lecturing and worrying. He makes a habit of it.

So maybe Carlos acts out a little more than usual, just so he can get Logan to kiss his banged up elbows better.

It's not like he's ever going to admit that he's doing it on purpose out loud; that would be lame, and Carlos is not lame.

* * *

One by one, Carlos's brothers and sisters move away. They start lives.

They exist outside of everything that Carlos has ever known.

* * *

The older they get, the more Logan talks about college. He's going to go to Stanford.

No, Brown.

No, Yale.

No, wait- _Harvard_.

As far as Carlos can tell, the only common theme between all the schools Logan name-drops is that they are all very, very far away from Carlos. And Carlos is not dumb. He's has always been told that he can do anything he applies himself to, but he's sixteen years old and he hasn't actually figured out if anything is worth the commitment. The world is so big, so full of possibilities. How is Carlos supposed to limit himself to one? For the rest of his life? The idea is terrifying.

It also means that Carlos probably won't be leaving Minnesota any time soon.

He dreads the day that Logan will pack up another U-Haul and leave their small town behind. Because Logan can, and he will. He is so impossibly smart that his leaving Carlos behind is _inevitable_.

* * *

"Seatbelt. Mirrors. Parking brake-"

"Radio!" Carlos interjects, twisting the dial up to loud.

"Carlos! I can't concentrate when you're blasting Lady Gaga."

Carlos ignores Logan in favor of singing along to Poker Face.

Logan sighs and begins a slow crawl out onto the open road. He's still pointedly fuming, stiff shoulders and the grim line of his mouth making it evident that he's not happy with this plan. Technically speaking, Logan's not even supposed to be driving this late, but he's got his California license test tomorrow and he's been having conniption fits for the better part of a month. Carlos nagged and whined and needled until he managed to con Logan into bending the rules, just this once. For _practice_.

Of course, Logan is terrified that they're going to get ticketed or arrested or something. He acts like all the traffic cops in California have painted a bright red target sign on the side of the BTR-mobile.

His fear is dumb. They're never going to get pulled over when Logan drives like someone's grandma. Not Carlos's abuela; she's got a serious need for speed. But someone's.

"Turn it down," Logan snaps, and Carlos only obliges because the skin on Logan's knuckles is turning white. He's so fucking uptight. Honestly, Carlos isn't even really sure why he decided accompanying Mr. Bitchy Britches on this outing was a good idea, but he thinks maybe it could have something to do with how every time he watches Logan climb into a car, he feels panicked.

Like maybe Logan's finally going to drive off and Carlos will never see him again.

Outside Carlos's window, he can see the black shapes of the landscape, of hills and planes and the guardrail. The palm trees are weird silhouettes, geometric shapes that wouldn't make any sense at all if Carlos hadn't driven down this highway a thousand times. The shadows are weirdly alien and beautiful.

Carlos likes California. He likes singing, and he likes that he's living a life he never could have predicted. He likes that for once, he's the one who turned his back on everything he ever knew back home. But at the same time, Carlos knows that the band is not a forever-thing. Logan still talks about college. Logan still talks about all the things he's going to do when he's a _man_.

Carlos wishes he'd just enjoy being a teenager for a little while.

They drive in silence for twenty minutes or so, and Logan actually seems like his muscles are unknotting. That is until Carlos starts flipping the passenger window switch up and down, watching the smooth glide of glass and the way Logan's reflection disappears and reappears; magic, in a way.

"Would you stop that?" Logan makes a disapproving noise. He edges back in his seat like he needs to put a little more space between himself and Carlos.

Carlos winces. He's not aiming for obnoxious, but he wants to kiss the back of Logan's neck. Carlos wants to ask him not to leave. Feelings are just so unnecessarily complicated.

He fists his fingers in his jeans and stops clicking buttons. "You need to calm down."

"_I am_-" Logan takes a halting breath, deep, but still panicked. He stares at the red light in front of them like it's an ogre's eye. "I am calm."

"You're really not though, dude." Carlos taps his fingers against the window frame, vaguely in time to the song on the radio, but occasionally missing a beat. He can feel Logan glaring at him out of the corner of his eyes. They pull out onto the freeway, the car trembling as it tries to maintain Logan's snail-like pace. It was made to go faster, to be freer. Carlos feels something mischievous run through him. He's bored with sitting still, and that is never, ever a good thing. "You know what would really loosen you up? Getting laid."

Logan slams on the breaks, right there on the middle of the freeway. If it wasn't well past three in the morning, they'd cause a sixty car pileup. "Carlos!"

The convertible's hood is up, ribbed metal stretching the cloth thin, and Carlos stares up at the wrinkled plastic sheet that makes up the sun roof and grins. "It's true."

"Is not. Geez." Logan remembers that he's supposed to be driving and presses hesitantly on the gas, like he's scared the pedal might bite him. "Give me a break. Driving is stressful."

"Uh, false. You're just a pussy," Carlos says, and he can tell the rough edge of his voice pisses Logan off. He barrels on, "When I go for my license, I guarantee you I won't be freaked out like you."

Logan shudders, "I dread the day someone lets you behind a wheel."

"I'll have you know I'm going to be an excellent driver," Carlos protest.

"If by excellent you mean terrifying, then yeah."

Carlos thinks about elbowing Logan, but given that he's got his gaze lasered on the road like it might drop out from under him if he blinks, that's probably not the greatest idea he's ever had.

Seriously, Logan is so fucking tense. That devilish feeling pricks at Carlos again, but he bats it away. He tries to pretend that they're on a road trip, that they're going to spend the rest of their lives existing like this; between the yellow and white lines that map out America. It doesn't work for long. Carlos is outgrowing make believe.

In the light of the dashboard, Logan's face glows green, an alien tint that deepens his dimples and the corners of his mouth. He is still handsome, a kind of good looking that mostly gets lost in the fog of _genius_ that surrounds him, but Carlos can see it. Carlos always sees it.

He's been a little bit in love with Logan for a long time.

Carlos's interest piques again, and this time it is harder to wave away. It's not like he's never thought about getting Logan naked before. It's just never felt like a thing that could be possible. Logan is such a freaking tight ass, all the time, and the band hasn't really helped his stress levels. Carlos has always figured that no way is he going to be able to handle a random sexual identity crisis on top of all the other things that make his shoulders go knotted and his eyes tight. Even if all Carlos wants to do is massage those knots away under his fingers and make the tightness turn to laughter.

But now, in the still of the night, with no one around for miles and miles on end? It seems like maybe it _wouldn't_ be such a bad idea. Maybe it's the time, an hour that feels more like a dream. Maybe it's the isolation. Maybe it's just that Carlos is bored, and he just wants Logan to chill out. Bravery isn't exactly Carlos's thing. He's better at reckless, at the kind of heroism that doesn't usually involve a lot of forethought. But with way more bravado than he actually feels, Carlos announces, "I know exactly what's going to loosen you up."

Then he reaches over and unbuttons Logan's jeans.

Logan, for his part, looks completely bewildered. "What are you doing?"

"You need to loosen up."

"Your point being?"

"I'm going to help you."

"By taking off my pants?" Logan squeaks, and even in the dim glow of the speedometer, Carlos can see how hard he's blushing. "How is that going to help anything?"

Carlos suppresses a snort. Barely. "It's what happens after I take off your pants that's going to help, dude."

He runs his thumb across the front of Logan's jeans, outlining the shape of Logan's cock, still soft, but warm. Logan squeaks and immediately yanks the wheel to the right. The car wobbles back and forth for a second before it steadies and Logan grits out, "What the fuck?"

"Relax," Carlos says. He can feel the car slowing down, so he tacks on softly, "Don't pull over."

"Like hell I won't. What do you think you're doing?"

For a smart kid, Logan's not catching on too quickly. Deftly, Carlos unzips his jeans the rest of the way, feeling around- despite Logan's surprised yelp- for the hole in the front of his boxers. When Carlos finds it, he dips his hand inside, immediately gravitating towards the heat and the weight of Logan's dick.

He's not hard, not even half, but by now Logan is definitely interested in the proceedings. He twitches beneath Carlos's fingers, and that's gratifying.

"Carlos…" Logan isn't even looking at him; he's staring out at the road, bearing down on the gas a little harder than before. But he isn't pushing Carlos away. He isn't _completely_ freaking out. Carlos rubs his thumb over the head of Logan's cock and grins. With as much ceremony as he can manage, he shifts his body, leans over the parking brake and maneuvers himself into Logan's airspace and downdown_down_. It's not the comfiest position in the world; his ass is half pressed up against the glove compartment, and his feet are cramped in awkward positions, but it's totally worth it for the noise that Logan makes when Carlos's tongue darts out.

He tastes salty; soap and sweat and the thing underneath that is intrinsically Logan. Carlos lets his mouth mold around the shape of him, tasting, sucking, licking along the underside just to see Logan squirm. His head thuds back against the headrest, grip white-knuckled on the wheel. Logan somehow manages to squeak, "You can't. It's dangerous-"

"It's an empty road, Logan." Carlos says patiently, lips moving against the tip of Logan's dick as he talks. "In California. It's not like we're going to hit a deer."

"But we could hit a coyote. Or a mountain lion. Or a person. This is such a bad idea."

"Do you want me to stop?" Carlos asks, and he's being a little unfair when he emphasizes his words with his tongue, tracing it along the slit of Logan's cock.

Logan swallows thickly and admits, "No."

"Alright then."

At first it's hard to figure out a rhythm. Carlos keeps hitting his ear and the back of his head on the steering wheel, which is in no way comfortable, but slowly and surely he makes it work. It involves more tongue than he thought, curling around the skin of Logan's cock until he gasps, says something dirty and unexpected. Carlos never knew that Logan's very wide vocabulary included that word. He hums in delight, skims his lips softer along Logan, like a kiss, licks filthy and sucks harder. It's not long until Logan's got one hand on Carlos's head, digging his fingers into Carlos's scalp, and Carlos has to pull of his dick with a pop to say, "You can't do that during your test. Both hands on the wheel."

Trembling, Logan obeys, and Carlos makes it wet and slow, like a reward. He thinks that Logan will never be able to drive anywhere ever again without the image of this, of Carlos's head in his lap and the way that he's teetering on the edge of something; pleasure and pain and love. The idea makes Carlos move faster, take Logan in as deep as he can. He flicks his tongue, feels Logan hit the back of his throat, and now Logan guides Carlos's head with one hand, fingers digging into his scalp, and Carlos _can't_ pull off to tell him _both hands on the wheel_, this time. He's losing track of the rhythm; everything is wet, and Logan's fucking up against his lips and his grip is tight in the short hairs on the back of Carlos's neck.

The car speeds up; Logan's pressing his foot hard on the gas as he tries to hitch into the wet heat of Carlos's mouth. They swerve a little wildly, and Carlos thinks he should be scared, but he's not; he trusts Logan, implicitly. He trusts that Logan will not let them crash.

When Logan comes, it is not with a sound, but with an increase in speed, a slackening of his mouth and this salty flood in Carlos's mouth that he has to swallow back like a tequila shot. He pulls off, breathes, tries to inhale something other than Logan and denim. He feels like he has the indent of a zipper and the curve of a steering wheel pressed into opposing parts of his face, but he's not worried. Carlos figures he probably won't ever get to do this again; he's going to relish it. The air tastes like endings, bittersweet on his tongue. The air also tastes like beginnings, wonder and joy and fear.

Logan's shoulders are shaking, his posture rigid, the front of his jeans splayed wide open. And now they're mostly obeying the speed limit; outside Carlos can make out shapes instead of blurs, palm trees and guard rails and the dash-dash-dash of paint on the roads.

"What- what exactly was that?" Logan heaves a breath, eyes darting right, left; anywhere but Carlos.

"Was it okay?" Carlos asks, a bit meeker than he intends. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, shifts in his seat. He doesn't want to look nervous. He _is_ nervous. His heart is a bird, frantic wings in his chest.

"It was-" Logan allows, focuses on the spaceship lights of the dashboard, swallows again. Carlos can hear his throat work. "Unexpected."

"Oh." Carlos's voice sounds hollow. His lips taste salty. His lips taste like Logan. "Okay."

"That's not a bad thing," Logan hurries to say, "It was good unexpected. Like, uh, like a surprise birthday party."

Logan's grip on the wheel tightens. He meets Carlos's gaze, just for a second, and then another. The air between them turns to honey, stretching sticky and thin. Logan's breath is staccato sounds, turning the air around them too hot, too hard to breathe.

"Well. Um." Carlos pauses. "Good luck on your test tomorrow."

"Yeah. Thanks." Logan glances back at the road, then away, then back. Abruptly, he asks, "Can I kiss you?"

Carlos blinks. He sort of hadn't thought Logan would want to. He nods; something inside of him quivering at the idea, but Logan does not balk. He pulls over in earnest, onto a narrow shoulder where they can see the big black space that is the beach and the waves rolling to shore and the place the sky touches down. Headlights zoom past in the opposite direction, turning Logan's eyes into lanterns as he shifts the car into park and pulls Carlos in close. His hands are fisted into the front of Carlos's shirt, his eyes blazing, and he mumbles, "Next time, how about we try that in a _bed_?"

Carlos is going to say _okay_, is going to ask _next time?_- but Logan has already crushed their mouths together, heat and something else, something that Carlos can't quite put his finger on. Not yet. But for the first time in a long time, Carlos is not thinking about the day that Logan will inevitably leave. Instead, Carlos has this vague, crazy idea that no matter what happens in the future, wherever Logan or Carlos go, the road is a part of them now, endless white lines and the taste of each other on their lips.


End file.
